Rent - part 2 (M/M, Oral) Copyright C.J. Davies
Standard disclaimer - don't read if you're under 18, easily upset or have problems (serious or minor) with gay-themed erotic stories. If your country/area of residence says this is naughty and illegal, well, I'm afraid I don't have a "get out of jail free" card you could use. Please, use your common sense. Whilst the characters in my story may or may not practice safe-sex, you really should. Not that you're foolish enough to eschew condoms merely because fictional characters don't use them, are you.
This story, or any part of it, may not be copied, re-edited, sold, or molested in any way without my saying it's okay. I still have specially trained winged-monkeys that are right now watching you, and they're authorised to attack should they see you disobeying this. They have sharp teeth, those monkeys. Re-posting is okay, as long as you leave this preamble in place and full credit is given where it's due. Any comments, criticisms or offers of gifts and/or sexual favours may be made to vindacatrix@ntlworld.com My thanks to everyone who has written to me; your comments and, dare I say it, praise is both surprising and appreciated.
If you fancy reading some more of what I've written (it's slightly less porny, I ought to warn you), you're welcome to check out my site www.plenaryindulgence.co.uk
Chris
-----------o-n--w-i-t-h--t-h-e--s-h-o-w--(-a-g-a-i-n-)--------------
It's a curious battle when your head is bellowing one thing at you, whilst your body happily goes about some entirely different business. All my ears could hear were the shocked, naive bleatings of my internal voice, squealing disbelief at the tawdry turn the evening had taken. All my body could feel, however, was the warmth of an interested boy's hand clutched tightly in my own. A feeling it - I - had no desire to give up. My skin felt hot and prickly, itchy in the night's humidity, and for a moment I felt lost and alien in my clothes. My hurriedly-negotiated 'business associate' hustled me down the street, away from the thinning pub crowd - once so threatening to me, but now imbued with a dizzying sense of safety-in-numbers - into a ramshackle tangle of residential flats. I hazarded a silent guess that they might be some level of solitary student accommodation.
Somewhat unnecessarily, I mumbled "so we're going back to your place, then...?" and saw him turn and grin at me, face bathed in the sodium orange of the security floodlighting. "Yeah, we are." "...okay..." His obvious comfort, his familiarity with the situation left me with no doubt that he was a professional, by which I imply that the prospect of escorting a perfect stranger to your apartment - for me a traumatic and chilling thought - was for him no different to a grocer opening up shop. I felt the overwhelming desire to feel a little less like a grubby punter. "Can I ask your name, please?" He grinned, again, this time baring even teeth. "You can." I sighed when he obviously had no intention of going any further, and asked "Okay, well... what's your name?" He stopped short. "I'm Adam" and shook the hand he was holding. I felt obliged, by my own curiosity, to reply "Hi Adam, I'm Tom." We smiled at each other, he wolfish, me demure. "Good to meet you, Tom... I hear you'd like to come home with me?" My demureness evolved rapidly to blushing embarrassment. "Erm... yeah... yeah... I mean... yes, I would." For an instant his smile snapped broader, before he shot back "Great!" and immediately continued leading me past numerous identical doors, each branded with a dull metallic intercom panel.
"This is us." We were stood outside of another black door, Adam fumbling a heavy bunch of chained-up keys from one of the pockets in his combats. I slipped my weight from foot to foot as he sifted through the ring and, finding what he sought, unlocked the door. I tried not to think about how difficult it could be to achieve any degree of genital rigidity when one also had the overwhelming impetus to piss one's pants. Eventually I had to give up the quandary, for fear of my addled, screaming brain melting and dripping in porridge-like lumps from my nose. Instead, I followed Adam into the hallway.
Half a dozen coats bulged precariously from three hooks on the wall, encroaching on the walk-space which, by design, was already tight. Past them, two closed doors and an archway into a small, tidy kitchen. Unopened mail, something frightfully important from the Readers' Digest, had been kicked into the skirting board, and shared space there with battered running shoes. I realised, suddenly, that Adam was staring at me as I nosily examined his flat. With the pinch of being caught came the stomach-churning realisation of why I was there. I did what I seemed to have spent half the evening doing, and blushed hotly. He chuckled. "You want a drink, or you want to..." He finished his question with the kind of dirty-smile-tilted-head-towards-the-door that left me in no doubt that his bedroom was on offer. I'm pretty sure my eyes span 360 in their sockets. I replied, "erm... I mean... it's a... maybe...", demonstrating how much I deserved an A-Level in English, and his smile broadened as he turned and led me into the kitchen. I had never been so relieved to see a jar of instant coffee before in my life.
I perched on the edge of a stool whilst he busied himself with the coffee, moving efficiently around the tiny space in such a way that seemed to invite my eyes to the somehow-baggy, somehow-tight seat of his combats. His ass jutted roundly outwards, small but solid, and the perfect counterpoint to his narrow waist. Inevitably he turned, and I was left staring at the partially-disguised bulge of his crotch; I gulped, my eyes flicking nervously up to his face and his apparently permanent grin. "I'm... sorry" I mumbled, but Adam cut me off. "Look all you want," his hand brushing down his flat stomach until the fingers traced the shape of his groin, "you don't need to apologise." He took a step towards me, ostensibly holding out my coffee, but all I could see, could think about was how his slenderness fit so enticingly, so properly between my splayed thighs. Reaching behind me, he set the cup on a window-ledge, placing his hands gently on my shoulders and lightly, rhythmically squeezing. I could feel the heat from the coffee radiating from his hand, smell the faint trace of his aftershave albeit bruised with the pub's fug of beer and smoke. It felt the most natural, most automatic thing to do, to thread my arms around his waist and pull him closer in to me. The warmth from his body pressed, unevenly, against mine both dizzied me and roused me; I tilted my head back, so that I was looking up into his slender, almost-elfin face, to find him looking beneficently, lustfully down at me, before he dipped down and our lips met.
That first, unexpected kiss was magical, a cliché‚ I know, but enough to kick my senses into autopilot. I stood, his arms pooling around my shoulders, mine still gripping hungrily at his waist, and as our faces came level we kissed again, more frantic this time, tongues squirming and teeth nipping. I opened my eyes momentarily, to find that his were already half-open and watching my reaction; lips still joined I pushed him back, hard, into the counter-top behind him, my fingers gripping at the formica as his eyes blazed wide and then feverishly. He pulled my face against his, and I could taste the acid of the orange juice he'd been drinking, the vague fuzz of mint from the gum he'd chewed. I could feel myself hard in my pants, pressed haphazardly into his own, firm groin, and as he corkscrewed his hips against mine I moaned into his mouth. Just as I thought I might spill right there, right then... just as his hands grabbed, fast, at my ass... just as he chewed at my bottom lip with his perfect teeth and pulled it, teased it out... he let go, drew away.
I stood, breathing heavily, confused and suddenly shamefully aware of my erection driving slanted against the fabric of my jeans. But any question I had was brushed aside as he brought his hand up to my face, brushed the pad of his thumb across my spit-wet lips, before hooking his fingers around the nape of my neck and drawing me, gently but insistently, out of the kitchen and towards his bedroom. The door swung open as he backed up against it, and we were in.
If I had expected rack upon rack of sex toys, whips, handcuffs and dildos, R18 porn on constant loop and industrial-sized barrels of lubricant, I was disappointed. His room was clean, tidy, almost anodyne and sterile in fact. It smelt lightly of air spray, with a mild chemical undertone, and a bed - a big bed, definitely a queen if not a king - dominated. I cautiously glanced up, but found no mirrored ceiling. Any further examination was halted by the sudden feel of his hands at my fly, and the warm purr of my zipper being expertly lowered. Looking down, then meeting his eyes, I saw his grin - professionally cool - was back, before all thoughts spurted from my head as his hand, slim and sly, darted into my jeans and cupped my balls, the tips of the dextrous fingers resting deep in the tight warmth between my legs. I felt his thumb stroke lines along the length of my hardness, confined almost horizontal against my abdomen by the tightness of my pants, circling from the root right up to the head, before tracing the flared, delicate edge of the crown. My knees began to buckle at his touch, and I only half noticed how his other hand had, first rubbing languidly across my nipple, come under my armpit to grip my shoulder blade and pull me closer in to him. Again, our lips met, and I was lost in the dual-sensations of his thick pout against my own and his teasing fingers unbuttoning and pulling and generally de-dressing. When I stepped back, my jeans were at my ankles and my t-shirt almost off my head; I sat down on the edge of the bed and kicked off my socks, left only in my underwear.
Adam's smile was hypnotic... almost, as my eyes were driven to play frantically over the fullness of his body. I forgot all sense of embarrassment over my physique, my skinniness and lack of definition, the paleness and the light dusting of hair on my chest that so singularly failed to look like the latest Calvin Klein model. His shirt succumbed quickly and fell to the floor, quickly followed by him skinning his tight, black tee and revealing a supple, swimmer's build torso with the faint undulations of a six-pack. The sight of his underwear waistband peeping, just a little, over the top of his combats made my crotch ache in its stiffness, and as he un-popped the fastenings the weight of so many pockets dragged them down around his legs, from which he easily stepped out of them.
He stood before me, and it was all I could do to prevent the drool from gushing out of my mouth like a spun tap. Discrete, no; honest, yes. His chest rose and fell with deep breaths, and his sinewy arms hung casually and easeful at his sides. The whiteness of his boxer-briefs stood in delicious counterpoint to his seemingly-natural tan, many moons away from the day-glow orange of some of the patrons from the pub we met in earlier, with the impossible-to-ignore distension of his fine erection tenting them out, upwards and to the left. I could see the shape of the glans, moist against the stretchy cotton, and make out thick veins trailing down to the clenched heft of his balls. Fuck, I wanted this boy.
At that moment, I forgot I was with a hooker. I forgot that Adam's attentions were paid for rather than earned with wining, dining and flowers. I forgot, even, my naivety in the bedroom, and that I was with a man who had most likely been with many, many more people than I could imagine. All that was in my mind was reaching out and holding his cock through his underwear, feeling the spongy-hardness, and that's just what my hand did. He sighed as I touched him, moved forward so that my other hand could reach around and cup the proud curve of his buttock. His hands played absentmindedly with my hair, outlining my ears and tugging gently at the top of my neck, as my head dipped in to lick eagerly at his belly button. Spit matted down the fine hairs leading down into the warm depths of his underwear, as I rubbed, stroked and generally molested the thickness of his prick from base to drooling tip. The heady scent of pre-come and maleness rose up past my nostrils, my head spinning even more, as I clawed my way down until it was my tongue dallying around his throbbing cock, turning the fabric translucent and sucking impatiently at the juices seeping through.
Lost in my heat, I reached both hands to his waistband and, fingers hooked about it, pulled down his sticky Calvins. His erection slapped hotly in my face, red and swollen, and I let the pants pool forlornly around his ankles with my hands now busy, one at the shaft and one back behind, pulling his crotch further into my face. Lapping hungrily on the underside, I slid my hand up and over the flushed crown, slicking pre-come across my palm and feeling him start at the overwhelming sensitivity. The tip of my tongue jabbed purposefully at the tautness of his fraenulum, squirming up and across and around the sensitive ridge, tasting him for all his warmth and salty-sweetness, whilst my gooey hand gripped boldly at his balls, circling as much of their root as possible and tugging gently down. Now his hands laced meaningfully through my hair, taking dominant grip on either side of my head and guiding my pouting mouth further down the shaft of his cock. I thrilled to the feeling of his hardness inside of me, letting my tongue press the tip of it against the ridges on the roof of my mouth, silently thanking his restraint in not thrusting it deep down my innocent throat and at the same time part-wishing he had.
His hips began a thrusting, slightly-swivelling motion in and out of my mouth, and for a while I was content to be the sucking, swilling wetness he pumped into. My hands alternated between playing roughly with his heavy balls and stroking across the smoothness of his stomach. And then I couldn't help but get more demanding, ramping up the suction in my mouth until he had to fill it else suffer the exquisite vacuum on his glans, digging my fingers, my nails, into the cleft of his buttocks and squeezing until I could hear him gasp above me. His hands clutched harder and harder at my hair, until tears pricked my eyes and then ran in thin streams down my cheeks; I growled around his cock and felt the vibrations down its length and through to the flinching pucker of his ass. With effort he pulled my head back, grinning, satisfied at the mewling I made as his cock slipped finally from my wet lips. "Back up" he instructed and I did, sliding from my seat on the edge of the bed until I was prone on my back with him standing over me. I could see the vast quantities of drool from my prick that had swamped my hipsters, the stickiness plainly saturating the hugging fabric and making it obscenely shiny. He squeezed the broad head between his thumb and forefinger, before returning the digits to his mouth and noisily sucking off the syrup. I giggled, just a little, and he reached for my pants, yanking them down my thighs and finally off, to land in a sticky heap on the bedroom floor. I lay there, spread, the tiny voice in my head demanding to know why I suddenly had no shame. But he was drowned out by Adam, as he crawled up from the foot of the bed to kneel above me, weight supported on his outstretched arms, then bend to my ear: "You're gonna get your money's worth tonight..."
End of part 2 - part 3 is written and is to follow.
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